The Wasteland
by wallfl0wer
Summary: I will show you fear in a handful of dust, she whispered. Draco and Hermione with Harry.
1. Part One

**Disclaimer: **Don't own it, although it'd be pretty damn cool if I did.

**A/N: **This story will be told in five parts, and I've already got about four of the parts written. Each of the parts are based loosely upon each of the five parts of T. S. Eliot's _The Wasteland. _I will be using some quotes from said poem, and the references will be at the end of each chapter.

With that said, I sincerely hope you enjoy!

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**The Wasteland**

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**Part One: The Burial of the Dead**

She was running up the corridor as fast as she could. She could feel her heart pounding uncomfortably in her chest and her veins throbbing. She had such a painful stitch in her side, she felt the urge to drop to the floor and cry for help. The left side of her head was showing evidence of a nasty blow to the skull, and her silvery hair was matted with deep red blood. Her vision was blurred by the tears streaming down her face. At last she allowed herself to stop, to attempt to clear the throbbing pain in her head and to cure herself of the ache in her side. But then she heard the sound of footsteps not too far away, and she tried to bring herself away from the comfort of the wall, away from the only thing keeping her standing. She gingerly let go of the small alcove she was clutching, and then, miserably, she felt her legs collapse from underneath her.

Her nails scraped the sides of the stone precipice as she tried adamantly to stand, but she fell to the floor before ever reaching her full stature. Bruises were beginning to form on her knees from the many times she had fallen to the ground. Again, she tried to rise, and managed to, albeit shakily, if she gripped the stone forcefully. The wall was her lifeline, her seeing eye dog. She plowed through the labyrinth of corridors blindly, using only her fear as sustenance. She soon felt as though she had seen where she was too many times before, so she stopped, almost as though she had lost all hope.

She was at the end of a dimly lit hallway, a wooden door stood ajar to her right. She peered in slowly, her hand on the wall, poised in case she needed to run. The room was empty, except for a an old and dusty desk, and an armchair, whose color was entirely indistinguishable. She pushed the door open, so in need of rest that she collapsed onto the chair with a sigh of sick relief. She knew that this brief respite was neither logical, nor responsible of her, but she could not help but linger in the soft comfort of the battered armchair. Enjoying her repose so much, she allowed her eyelids, blue with fatigue, to flutter shut. It was then that she heard the door swing shut with a soft click. Her heart fell, and she opened her eyes.

Standing before her was a man with greasy black hair that had been tied neatly behind his head, showing a sizable hooked nose. He did not smile, only walked toward her with what she knew to be uneasy steps. Placing his hands either side of her on the armrests, he stared into her gray eyes with his beady black ones. She groaned unintentionally, out of pain, out of anguish but also out of sheer disappointment; she had lost the chase. Then, very gently, he knelt down in front of the trembling woman, staring at her, as if he were a curious child staring at a beautiful, imprisoned animal in a zoo. Her lips were trying to form words, but none came out. He knew he could delay no longer. He took out his wand and spoke in uneven, shaky words.

"_Avada Kedavra._"

He then closed his eyes very tightly, and sat down fully with a thud on the floor against the desk. When he opened his eyes again, she still lay there, looking very still, very small and very broken. Her eyelids were a deep slate blue, and when he took her into his arms after thoughtful consideration, she fell limp against him. He would not let himself remember her like this. He would remember her youthful, lithe body sprinting up the sloping grass hill to meet him for her tutoring sessions. He would remember her little sighs at not understanding the complicated potions he was trying to teach her. He would remember the smile she gave him when leaving her O.W.Ls examination and the cry of happiness she let out when she told him she was sure she passed and that it was all because of him. He would remember the radiance of her smile when she married a man who was not him, and how the smile only grew when her first son was born.

He had known from the moment he had set eyes upon her that she was someone to be watched. She had sweetly offered him her friendship in her second year, which had been his fourth. She had been merely a girl then, but her pale blue eyes always lit up when she saw him. She had not realized until much later that the older boy had developed amorous feelings for her. He had been there to notice the abrupt change in her once bright demeanor when she had begun her courtship with the man he now viewed solely as his acquaintance and colleague. And they had once been such good friends...

He could no longer bear to hold her dead form like this, so, laying her back gently where she had died only moments earlier, he stood. He backed away from her a few steps, and then feeling she looked so cold, and so, so very tiny, he removed his thick black cloak and laid it on top of her.

Severus Snape then walked away, his back to the woman he never had in life, and wanted so badly to have in death.

---

Alone in his bed, Harry Potter looked like a normal boy. Though he bore dark circles underneath his eyes, nothing, at first glance, about his behavior looked peculiar. But looking closer, you could see his hand shaking slightly as he put his glasses on his bedside table, the slumped curvature of his back, the tensed muscles. People noticed the spark in his once vibrant green eyes extinguished. He hadn't bothered to pull back the covers, so he lay, shaking slightly, on his bed. He was very clearly wide awake.

He thought back on seeing Dumbledore crumpled on the cold ground, his withered hand at his side, and how much despair he felt at that moment. Surely he could not defeat Voldemort when his mentor, his only aid, was dead and gone. He remembered how helpless he was when he saw first Draco Malfoy, and then Severus Snape enter the scene, both with the intention of killing Dumbledore. He bore so much anger towards them both he couldn't stand it. While Malfoy hadn't gone through with it, Snape, who Dumbledore had trusted so completely, had taken the one shred of hope Harry had at winning the war once and for all. He had lost his last living mentor, and he found himself feeling irrepressibly alone.

Although something in him protested vehemently, some small voice in the back of his mind telling him he had many things left to do, with the sounds of Ron Weasley's snores as his lullaby, Harry was able to drift off into an uneasy sleep.

He was in a garden full of thick, bulbous plants covered in waxy, small and very fragrant blue flowers. He felt the scent overpowering him, and as he walked through the garden, his steps grew heavier and he found it increasingly hard to move. The perfume was so thick, he found it very difficult to breathe and when he stopped, he felt himself become slowly asphyxiated by the stench. He found himself compelled to walk forth still, though his movements became steadily sluggish with every step he took.

His eyes were tearing slightly, as the atmosphere continued to slowly stifle him. A girl stood, blocking his path, and he felt annoyed. She was beautiful, long black hair cascaded down her back, and eyes that were the same piercing, deep blue as the flowers surrounding her. She smiled, red lips widening and displaying very, very white teeth. She beckoned him with her long, willowy arms, and he moved towards the mysterious girl. She evoked in him a very strange feeling; it was something dark, something powerful, but something very alluring.

_Harry. Harry. _His name was spoken repeatedly in his head. He looked at the girl, but her lips were not moving. _Harry, Harry. _Still, the persistent voice echoed madly in his head. He felt himself fall to his knees. _Harry. Harry. Harry. _She gave him her hand, but he could not bring himself to stand.

"Come with me, Harry." The girl had spoken. Harry could barely concentrate on anything else but her, though sleep was tugging at his eyelids like a persistent child tugs at his father's shirt sleeve. He tried to push her hand away, but she held onto his wrist with a steadfast grip.

"Harry, you do not understand who I am, but when you do, I assure you, come with me you will." She spoke these words in a breathy whisper. She managed to pull him up, her eyes settled on his with determination. "Harry, you will come to learn that you will need me. I am Hyacinth, and this is my garden."

Harry looked at her incredulously. He had not completely lost his mind. This girl was talking like Professor Trewlawney, and he had no trouble thinking in his mind that every word that came out of her mouth was absolute rubbish.

"Harry, do not doubt me. I can understand why you would be unbelieving. It is not often that you encounter such beauty, such allure." She gestured around to her garden.

"Why am I here?" Harry asked, although not really caring to pay attention to her answer.

"I have brought you here because I know you have experienced great trouble." She picked an apple from a tree nearby and gave it to him. He took it, but did not take a bite. "I would like to take you away from your pain, your anger." Harry looked at her like she was growing a third eye.

"I will show you fear in a handful of dust," she whispered. Harry stopped his scoffing, and looked at her. Those words made him actually listen properly, and take in her very being. He noticed the teeth faintly pointed, and the skin that was very white, and rather taut.

She turned, her hand still gripping his tightly, and walked further into the jungle of flowers. Harry was becoming less receptive to the powerful properties the plants clearly held, and yet, he followed her still. _I will show you fear in a handful of dust. _Those words haunted him as they continued their trek further into the tangle of blue blooms. When she turned to face him, he noticed a faint red glimmer in the blue of her eyes.

"I will help you understand why there has been so much pain in your life, why you lead a doomed existence. We will share the treasures of my land together. You will be able to unload all the many burdens of your life, all the secrets you know, onto to me. I will help you carry the heavy load of your most important, pressing secret."

"Trelawney?" Harry whispered more to himself than to the bewitching girl before him, entranced by the gentle sway of the bulbous flowers behind her. He then noticed her take in a sharp breath, as though she were taken aback. She walked forward slowly.

"Who is this Trelawney you speak of?" This she asked quizzically, but rapturously. Harry could almost see her tongue dart out from behind her pointy teeth to lick her lips, and this, he felt, was a sign that she was more interested in the prophecy than she was in him ruling her 'kingdom' by her side.

"Oh... no one." He tried to say, but she latched on to his arm, and he felt her nails dig in deeply. "Ah, ah, ah, no secrets, Harry. Remember, I am here to help you overcome your burden," Hyacinth hissed excitedly.

"Just a... homework assignment I forgot to complete." Harry looked at his feet, which were bare. He could see the veins twisting around beneath the skin, writhing like snakes in his nervous eyes.

"Don't lie to me, you silly child. Trelawney... Is she not a Seer, perhaps?" Hyacinth said these last words with her lips an inch from Harry's ear. He heard, just as he had before, a faint hissing in her breath. It was then he noticed the tiny gold snake, with ruby red jewels for eyes, twisted around her upper arm. This whole scenario suddenly began to remind him dangerously of the Garden of Eden. He was Eve, and this girl, Hyacinth, was the snake who lead her to temptation which in turn became the damnation of humanity.

Harry began to scream, and Ron woke him only moments later, a fear and sadness etched on his face was visible in the dim light of the flickering candle.

---

The torches barely lit the corridor, and Professor Trelawney tried in vain to wrap her shawl more tightly around her, as she was cold, but this was a pointless feat; her hands had been tied behind her back with a magical rope of some sort and would not undo. She felt a tear slip down her bony cheek. She had lost the only man who believed in her, Dumbledore, and now she knew her time had come. She had not foreseen her own downfall, as she had seen Harry's many a time, but in her gut feeling, she felt the end was near.

She was being lead around twists and turns, which she was sure was meant to confuse her further, and the Death Eater holding her arm gruffly seemed to do so with the utmost disdain. He had no sympathy for her. He was simply a henchman, sent out to do his job by the 'boss'.

When they had finally reached the end of their journey, at the end of a particularly long and twisted hallway, a door, ornately carved with images of snakes, stood before her, a picture almost too terrifying for the poor bug-eyed woman to look at. The door opened slowly, and inside was a small torture chamber. It was not a traditional Muggle torture chamber, no, it was bare, except for a large chair set to one side. Before this grand throne, an empty space, a perfect spot to place a prisoner and have perfect view of him the entire time one's wand was pointed at his pitiful face.

The Death Eater shoved her in, so roughly that she fell to the floor at the foot of the throne. She looked up to find it empty. The door slammed shut and she was alone in this room, shivering. Her shawl felt lighter upon her shoulders than ever before. She began to sob quietly, never having been so lonely before now.

Left in there for four days, Trelawney lay on the hard ground shivering, starving and thirsty. The Death Eater who brought her to her death room had brought her water on her second day, but had only allowed it to splash her lips before he whisked it away. Today was the day she would be questioned and then killed, she could feel it. All she had thought about the entire time she had been trapped in her prison was the last thing Dumbledore had said to her. He had told her of the prophecy she had made and how it impacted the entire war in a very major way. He told her that both Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter had shared the same destiny from birth, and that Harry had just been the one chosen. And then Trelawney remember him saying a very peculiar thing. _Until now._ Trelawney did not want Voldemort to capture Harry, for whom she had developed a small soft spot for over the years. She felt she had to say something else, anything.

The next day, she felt the air magically charged around her, and only moments later, the door opened and there the horrific figure of Voldemort stood before her. He snickered at her, and with a swish of his robes, went to sit in the high backed throne in the north corner of the room. Trelawney tried to stand, but Voldemort hissed, "Sit down, you stupid woman. This will be over too soon for me to waste my time watching you attempt to stand."

Trelawney shook in place, but remained sitting. Voldemort regarded her for a few moments, before saying in a voice that betrayed his look of boredom just slightly, "So, you filth, the prophecy, eh? The one you made eighteen years ago. The one that spoke of a certain boy, a certain _Harry Potter._"

Voldemort looked at her in an odd manner, squinting his eyes slightly. She couldn't tell for the life of her what he was doing. It was then that she felt as though something very strong, like a giant, was tugging at her brain. The tugging stopped and she felt a breeze pass through her ear canals. Voldemort closed his eyes, looking rather pleased. He looked as though he were in deep contemplation. Then, very suddenly, his eyes flew open.

"This prophecy is very _vague._" He spat.

"There is another boy," she gulped, "Neville Longbottom. He is the boy Dumbledore thought the prophecy was about all along." She looked at Voldemort's red eyed without blinking, staring him down. Voldemort looked visibly flustered.

"We've had the wrong boy the whole time? But how could this be?" Voldemort stood, and walked towards the door. Almost as an afterthought, he spun on his heal to face Sibyl Trelawney.

"You haven't been completely useless. You may have been a nuisance, but you've saved me a lot of time. No matter." He turned around once more, walked through the threshold. Trelawney let out a sigh of relief. She wasn't worm's meat. Yet.

"_Avada kedavra._"

---

Draco Malfoy held a letter with a shaking hand, any trace of color drained from his normally pale face: he looked utterly ghostly. He looked up, his eyes hazy, and saw the blurry figure of Tom, the barman, come near. His eyes refocused, and he saw Tom look down to his letter ever so quickly, and then realize just what it was. His face contorted slightly, and he began to mouth things slowly, perhaps his apologies, before he moved away.

Draco nodded, left a gold galleon on the table, took his letter and walked out the door of the Leaky Cauldron. The day was dark, as the rain clouds covered the sky and the gleaming sun of the day before. He began to walk slowly down the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley. He looked at all the faces, children were happy in this magical place. He felt like it was his prison.

He had been told to stay here, by the Minister of Magic himself, in the very letter that announced his mother's death. He felt angry at the formality of the letter, wishing in the back of his mind Dumbledore was still alive, as he would have been the one to tell him. Dumbledore would have understood. Snape had been the one to kill his mother. The man who had been in the house when Draco was born; he had held the boy, third only to his father and mother. He had grown up with Snape as his mentor, knowing all those years how deeply Snape felt for Narcissa. And now, she was gone.

A child walked up to him, holding out a single lilac stalk, tiny flowers bursting out all around. The child was poor, the dirt on his cheeks gave that away. Draco took out another gold galleon, far more than the two knuts the child was asking for, and took the lilac. The child than ran from him, back to his mother, who smiled thankfully at Draco, tears in her eyes. He noticed all of seven children's feet were bare. Looking down at his own shoes, he plowed on, the lilac pressed against the letter forcefully.

_There we are, mother. You have your lilac now. _Draco thought. He remembered the lilacs surrounding Malfoy Manor, and the lilacs in every room. He remembered his father thinking her fanatic lilac garden was inappropriate for his house, and having them all pulled out overnight. He remembered his mother's face when she saw the lilacs littering the grounds, dying, their petals curling and browning at the edges. How she cried that day...

He observed all the ghosts of his past... several of his old classmates were there. He recognized a few Gryffindors, a very substantial number of Hufflepuffs and rather a lot of Ravenclaws. Not once, however, did a Slytherin show his face. He knew where most of them were... preparing. He was not so much angry, just fed up. He couldn't make his father proud, and he never knew what his mother wanted him to be. She had always been so oppressed...

It was then that McGonagall tapped his shoulder briskly. "Mister Malfoy," she said carefully, "I trust that you are... _all right_." Draco turned to face her, but while he was prepared to lash out at her, he noticed she looked terribly distraught. He shook his head slightly, and she sighed. "I am terribly sorry for what has happened to you. I hope this does not anger you, but I am meant to stay here to... to _guard_ you. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is looking for you, Draco. He wants you, and Mister Potter. You are both in grave danger. Now, many students are remaining at Hogwarts. It is no longer the safest place, but many Aurors are there watching over your classmates. I am not telling you that you must go back, but you can't remain in Diagon Alley forever. It will soon be taken over."

Draco watched her quietly. Slowly, he allowed himself to sneer. "What makes you think I'm not the one whose going to be doing the taking over?" Draco drawled, but his heart was not in it. However, his father's looming image was imprinted in his mind, reminding him to keep up appearances and to _show no weakness._

"He wants you dead, boy," McGonagall snapped, but it was clear her heart was not in it either. "Why on earth do you think he'd trust you with something like this?"

The boy shrugged, his pale hair covering his face so that McGonagall could not see him with fear in his eyes. He had long since given up keeping up appearances. He had allowed himself to get too thin and allowed his hair to grow too long and remain unkempt. He looked utterly lost and unimposing. McGonagall lost any flicker of bite when she said, "What would you like to do?"

Draco stood there, noticing how fragile McGonagall looked, dark circles lay to sleep forever under her eyes and wrinkles twisted their way up her already ancient face. He had the urge to reach out and touch her arm, but before he could give into the temptation, he felt a brisk tap on his shoulder. Before he turned, McGonagall said hurriedly that she was staying in the Leaky Cauldron, Room 8. Draco spun to face Blaise Zabini.

"Blaise..." Draco whispered. His friend was covered in cuts and bruises, and was walking with a slight limp. He fell to hug Draco, who staggered back under Blaise's weight. The tall boy sighed, relieved, and while still leaning on Draco, propped himself up.

"I'm sorry, mate. The boss sent one of his henchmen after us again to try to 'recruit' my mother and I. I snapped his wand. So... after that, we had a bit of a struggle." Draco stared blankly at Blaise. He was one of the few Slytherins Draco knew who was in no way affiliated with Voldemort, who he referred to as 'the boss', for reasons unbeknownst to Draco. He guessed Voldemort found his family a powerful asset, as the Zabinis came from old money and a very Pureblooded line.

"Merlin, I stink of my mum's lilac perfume. The bloody bastard threw a whole tray of it at me. Unbelievable." Blaise shook his head, and smiled at Draco good-naturedly. Sinking, Draco thought Blaise was behaving in a very, very friendly manner, and it bothered him a little. Blaise, and in fact all the Zabinis, were a very snotty, arrogant and cold bunch. Draco couldn't remember if Blaise had ever used the word 'mate' to designate a friend of his, or for that matter the phrase 'bloody bastard'.

"Draco, what's wrong? You look peaky." Blaise hobbled forward. Draco shook his head, and mumbled, "Mum's dead." Blaise looked positively outraged. "Right! Well... That... _bastard..._" Draco looked at the slender boy in front of him in an entirely new light. Blaise grabbed Draco's arm, for comfort and his own support, and they made their way awkwardly to a stone bench.

"God, I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?" Blaise asked earnestly. Draco, who had always been rather skilled at healing charms, a skill that for some reason greatly annoyed his father, began to heal one by the one the scrapes marring Blaise's beautiful, dark skin.

"Tell Pansy that I never want to see her again?" Draco replied.

Blaise snickered, in spite of their situation. Draco spoke again. "I'm serious. I can't deal with her anymore... And what with my mum... It's just not what I want anymore."

"Consider it done, Draco. You're going to be all right. You know that, right?" Blaise said. "You didn't give in, and I respect that."

_So that was why he was being so friendly, _Draco thought. Blaise despised anything to do with Voldemort. He hated the fact that all his acquaintances fully planned on becoming Death Eaters the day they turned seventeen. Draco suspected that Blaise thought that because of Draco's little stunt the night of Dumbledore's death that maybe he had changed. It was the first time that he, Draco, actually gave his position in the war some thought. All he knew was that he had no desire to be apart of what killed his mother.

"No, I didn't give in, did I?"

Draco Malfoy's slender hand crumpled the letter, the letter no one would ever know to be covered in tear stains.

---

**A/N:** "I will show you fear in a handful of dust." - _The Wasteland_, I. The Burial of The Dead, T. S. Eliot.


	2. Part Two

**Disclaimer: **I don't own a thing but the plot. (But I do wish I owned Draco, cheeky little bugger.)

**Part Two: A Game of Chess**

She sat upon her gilded throne, a quintessential ice queen staring down upon her inferiors. Surrounding her were her possessions, of which she had acquired many over the years. Around her neck dripped jewels given to her, in place of affection, by her parents, and they glistened in the light of the seven-branched candelabras placed on the walls. Her rooms stank of the rich perfumes she drowned herself in; the odors smoked and danced around her like luminous fairy dust. The fire burned orange and red, and lit up her face so that she seemed distinctly more full of life than she actually felt. She rose, and walked over to the large window, adorned with gaudy baby Cupid figures, a shrine to bad taste.

"Oh, Blaise, where do you suppose he is?" Pansy Parkinson asked anxiously while staring out the window longingly. Blaise Zabini snickered to himself without really meaning to. It was a rather ridiculous situation; a high society Pureblood pining away at the window for her lover when she could very well have any wizard in the world. She was by no means beautiful, but she came from a family that was very, very well off.

Pansy, in all her blonde-curled glory, fell onto a chintz armchair in a huff. "Blaise, I just don't understand it! He was always so eager before, and now he's left me to go mope alone. I didn't even think he _liked _his mother."

Blaise looked at her for a long moment before replying, "If you didn't know that he loved his mother very much, then perhaps you have no business demanding his presence here."

"Oh, who asked you?" Pansy shot back, glaring at him.

"Pansy, you've known me for ages. I want to help you with this, but that was something anyone with half a brain could tell about Draco. She was very dear to him. Perhaps you should give him his space... for a while."

"You're not being very supportive, Blaise. I thought I was dear to him, but clearly not since he's neglected to come to me when I've asked him to so nicely."

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Pansy, his mother's just died!" Blaise stood, and walked to the door. He didn't really want to look at her at the moment. She could just be so stupid sometimes.

"I know that, Blaise," Pansy stood a walked over to where Blaise was standing. She didn't even come up to his shoulder, so she put her hand on the small of his back as a friendly peace offering. Blaise turned to face her, which gave her the opportunity to continue whining. "But, oh I don't know, I thought maybe I could comfort him. Tell him it wasn't his fault. You know, that's sort of thing people do, isn't it?"

"It's not some conventional thing. If you love him, you should be able to do something, think of something that could possibly make him feel better."

"Draco doesn't feel for anything. He did for me, but nothing else. I'm sure it's not even his mother... Maybe he's been detained somewhere, or... or maybe he's buying me a gift!"

Blaise looked at her incredulously. "Pansy, I know that's not it." Pansy looked at him, her eyebrows knitted. "I saw him earlier today. He was... in quite a state. But it wasn't over you, well, not really. His mother just died, and he's grieving. But he also... well, Pansy, to be frank, I just don't think he likes you anymore. Simple as that."

"You lack tact, Blaise." Pansy retorted. Now it was Blaise's turn to knit his eyebrows. _What was she on about? _"I've known it all along," Pansy continued, "You don't have to be shy. I know you've always liked me. You were always jealous, and now you're just trying to sabotage what Draco and I have. You know, I bet his mother's not even dead. I think you've just made that up. You've probably sent him to Siberia or something. Oh, poor Draco!" Pansy marched up to Blaise, and stood up to her full height, which really wasn't all that impressive. "Don't think I'm not on to you, Blaise Zabini." She poked his chest. "I don't know how you could have done this to Draco. Isn't he meant to be your friend or something?"

"What _are _you laughing about?" Pansy finally asked, after watching Blaise collapse into a fit of giggles. He quickly composed himself, which proved to be very convincing and very imposing. Pansy shrunk back, but only a little.

"No, Pansy. I do not, nor have I ever liked you. Draco really is planning on leaving you." Pansy stared at him; her eyes grew wide. Blaise stepped closer, "What are you going to do?"

Pansy looked her feet awkwardly. When she raised to her head to look at the man in front of her, her eyes were rimmed with tears. "Do you really think he wants to leave me, Blaise?"

"I do."

She nodded and walked over slowly to her armchair, her feet behaving as though standing upon needles points. She sat down at the edge of her seat and stared into space. "I don't understand. We were meant to get married. It's been planned since we were children."

"I know. It will be an embarrassment to the family, won't it, Pansy?" Blaise asked, sitting opposite her, although in a much more relaxed manner. She nodded in a robotic manner. "Do you think you'll be able to stand the shame?" Blaise inwardly smirked. He was worried he was enjoying this too much. Pansy snapped out of her trance, and said straight out, "No, I don't think I could."

"I would rather be dead than be in your position, Pansy."

Pansy nodded and stood shakily, "I know. I feel like dying." She walked over to a bookshelf, which was not covered in dust only because the house elves repeatedly crept into the room in the middle of the night. With her manicured fingers, she delicately ran her hands over the books she had never bothered to read.

"Maybe I will."

"Maybe you should." Baize walked up behind her, and breathed into her ear. He grabbed her hands and led them to her sides. "How will you do it? I don't think I could bear to point my own wand at myself... Maybe poison?"

"Yes," Pansy whispered, feeling Blaise's heart thumping against her back, "I think Father keeps some in his desk... you know, just in case." She freed herself from Blaise's grasp and ran from the room.

Blaise stood, a wolfish smile on his face, and waited for her to return. When she did, she held a small bottle in her fist. She looked at Blaise, who nodded encouragingly. Pansy shakily took the cork stopper out of the top of the bottle, and downed all it's contents in one gulp. Blaise watched as her skin slowly turned different kinds of blue, before settling on a pale, pale shade that made Pansy look as though she were bathed in moonlight.

Before apparating out of the large house, Blaise stooped down to turn down Pansy's eyelids.

---

"Harry, are you all right, mate?" Ron asked, holding back the red velvet drapes surrounding Harry's four poster bed. Harry sat up, and pushed back the messy black hair, now a mass of sweaty tendrils, showing Ron his scar, which seemed to shine eerily in the flickering candlelight. He grabbed his glasses, and shoved them on roughly. Harry looked wildly at Ron, who, trying to bring a little humor into the situation, said, "Bad dream?"

Pushing back the covers, Harry leapt out of bed. "We have a serious problem. We need to get into Dumbledore's office. _Now._" He plunged into his trunk to find a clean pair of trousers. Ron came around, and pulled Harry up so he was at his full height. He had grown slightly, but looked extremely gaunt, his cheekbones very visible in the wavering light. "I'll explain later. You need to get dressed and find Hermione... And I suppose Ginny'll have to come to. I'll wake Neville."

"Neville?" Ron whispered quizzically.

"Yes, Neville. This is important, Ron. _Move_." Harry pulled a T-shirt over his head, and ran his hand through his hair nervously. He grabbed his wand and made his way over, through the piles of dirty laundry, to Neville's sleeping form.

"Neville!" Harry shook the larger boy's body. "_Neville! _Come on, this is important!"

"Wha...?" Neville opened his eyes sleepily. Harry could not understand how he had slept through the scream. He realized then how empty Hogwarts was. Many parents, to the extreme dismay of Professor McGonagall and the Order of Phoenix, had removed their children from the school. Only Harry, Ron and Neville remained in the Seventh Year boy's dormitory. Harry watched as Neville sleepily got out of bed, and put on his slippers.

"Neville, we need to get into Dumbledore's office. I need you to wake up. This is very, very important. Don't ask me to explain right now. I will later. I promise. Grab your wand and come with me." Neville nodded and followed Harry down the spiral steps, and into the empty Gryffindor Common Room. Harry could just make out the figures of Ron, Ginny and Hermione in the dying fire. He motioned for them to follow him through the portrait hole. They moved slowly through the corridors, wands out, with Harry in the lead.

With no Headmaster, Hogwarts had become a refuge of the worst kind. There were students lurking around every corner, ready to attack. They were suspicious of everyone and anyone. No one seemed to trust the people they had come to know so well over the years. McGonagall had left Professors Flitwick and Sprout in charge of school affairs, and several of the members of the Order were there to survey the school. It was no longer the safest place in the world, but there, the students could be kept track of, and protected as well as they could be in any other part of the world.

They soon arrived at the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office. McGonagall had left Dumbledore's final password with Harry, so that he'd be able to do any research he wished, or so that he'd be able to be alone.

"_Acid pops_." Harry whispered. A staircase was revealed and up they went, all five of them, to discover what it was that made Harry act so differently all of a sudden.

When they reached the landing and opened the large oak door, Hermione conjured up five chairs for them to sit in. This reminded Harry painfully of Dumbledore, as he was always courteous and made the same gesture. They sat in a silence finally broken by Ron, who claimed he couldn't stand it anymore. "What's going on? You woke up all sweaty and screaming. Did you have another dream with You-Know-Who or something?" They all looked at Harry earnestly; Hermione, however, looked suspicious, her eyes squinted. She was scrutinizing Harry's every move.

Ginny stood, and walked over to where Harry sat trembling, and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. She bent down, and whispered into his ear, "Come on, Harry. It's all right. We want to help you. We'll do whatever it takes." She stayed behind him, both hands on his shoulders to support him, while he retold his dream to his friends. They all looked puzzled, albeit Hermione, whose face bore a look of horror.

Ron gaped at both Hermione and Harry, as they were eyeing each other, faces white as chalk. Hermione finally spoke, "Ron, I think what Harry means to say is... Well, the reason he's so worried... I think, after all the clues and hints he gave us, that this girl, Hyacinth... well, that she's Voldemort."

"Impossible!" Ron exclaimed. He stood, and looked at Hermione with a sort of fierce fondness. "Hermione, I know you're supposed to be the smart one, but Harry's just spouted out all these weird things... he could have made it all up in his head. I mean... Trelawney's not in danger, she's here."

"She's not," Ginny interjected.

"What do you mean, she's not?" Ron asked. He walked over to where Harry and Ginny were situated and looked curiously at his sister. Harry just stared continually at Hermione, as though he were silently pleading for help to rid him of this predominant guilt that filled up his body.

"I mean... I saw her leave the grounds. She hardly had anything with her, but I saw her holding a letter. I don't know if that means anything at all... But she's not in the castle."

"Right," Neville spoke for the first time, "You people aren't taking any initiative. Let's do something!" They all stared at him, for this outburst was highly uncharacteristic of him. Harry stood, nodded at Neville, and his eyes began to dart energetically around the room.

"All right, everyone. We need to look for clues... anything you can find that might show you where Voldemort's horcruxes are." Harry walked over to Dumbledore's desk.

"Horcruxes?" Neville asked.

"Pieces of Voldemort's soul, his life support essentially." Neville and Ginny all looked at him in a bewildered manner. "Well, I suppose you'll all just have to look for anything, anything at all that you think will be of help."

They all nodded uneasily, and set off in different directions around the room. Ginny went straight for the Pensieve, and she began plunging in every once and a while, and coming back with worried looks on her face. Ron and Neville had taken to rummaging through Dumbledore's cupboards. Hermione, as per usual, tackled the books. This left Harry alone at the prominent, wooden desk. Harry didn't know why he thought Dumbledore would have just left something behind, but maybe this was all in the cards, maybe he left something specifically for Harry to find, to aid him in his quest to kill his mortal enemy.

They searched for hours, but nothing of any real interest could be found. Ginny had seen how Dumbledore had acquired his first horcrux, but other than that, nothing on the subject had been unearthed. Harry continued to search through Dumbledore's desk, which proved a difficult feat. His old professor had put many secret compartments within his desk, and Harry had to essentially tear the grand desk apart to find all of them. Hermione walked over, and began helping him open some of the compartments that would not open with _Alohamora. _

Hermione gave a little gasp, which was then followed by everyone's quick scamper to get a good look at what she was so amazed by. She was holding a letter her hand, and her eyes scanned the paper maniacally. When she had clearly finished, she handed the letter over to Harry, who read it with the same vicious ardor Hermione had moments earlier.

"Well?" Ron nearly yelled.

"Well," Hermione said slowly, "It's a letter dated back about a week before... Dumbledore's death. And, it was addressed to his brother, Aberforth." They all crowded around as Harry read the letter's contents aloud. It seemed as though the two brothers had discussed the matter in previous letters, as it took a great deal of deciphering to fully comprehend what was being said.

"Harry," Ginny said slowly, "It seems as though Dumbledore was thinking of... this letter seems to me to be some form of a suicide note." Hermione nodded in agreement.

"Nah, Dumbledore's not the type." Ron said of his sister's observation.

"No," Hermione replied, "But he's the type to do whatever he can to support his cause. Harry." Everyone looked at her. "Look here, he says something about a transformation, and going to see 'some old friends'."

"So?" Ron interjected.

"So, Ron,"Hermione stated calmly, "I think that Dumbledore meant to take some sort of potion. I doubt the Polyjuice Potion is really strong enough. But I know of a few potions that work quite like the Polyjuice Potion... I just know they take even longer to make."

"Would this be it, by any chance?" Neville was in the very back of Dumbledore's office, where twelve test tubes were lined up, all marked with the letters M.P. "M.P? What do you think that-"

"The Mutatius Potion." Hermione replied briskly. "He's made everything very easy for us. Almost too easy, even."

"What exactly are we supposed to do with that stuff?" Ron demanded. Hermione reread the letter, mumbled a few things to herself and finally settled for very pained expression on her pale face.

"Well?"

"Well," Hermione started, "When Dumbledore mentioned 'some old friends'... I don't think he literally meant to see old friends, because, really, what would be the point in having the most powerful transformation potion there is? No... By old friends, I think he means the Death Eaters."

"The Death Eaters?" Ginny gasped. "What on earth would Dumbledore want to see them about?"

"I'm not sure exactly. To get close to them... it doesn't all make sense. But I think he meant to take the potion to transform into... someone, and then to meet up with the Death Eaters."

"Would it be possible that he wanted to transform into me?" Harry asked, after be silent for a long while.

"I don't really see where that would get us. If he wanted to transform into you, then how does that explain the Death Eaters?" Ginny said.

"No, you know what, I think Harry's right." Hermione whispered. "I think, and hopefully I'm not mistaken, that Dumbledore meant to transform into Harry and somehow get captured by a Death Eater. Then, he'd get brought to Voldemort, and... well, I suppose either manage to kill him, or be killed himself. Which would then mean," Hermione had begun pacing, "That perhaps, if Harry kept to himself and out of sight, that Voldemort could think for a time that Harry was dead. That of course would send the world into a bit of chaos, but it would give Harry a bit of time, if he was careful, to find the remaining Horcruxes."

"This plan of his sounds a bit rash to me," said Ron.

"I agree." Hermione finished. "But I honestly think Dumbledore was going a bit soft." She looked at Harry, who gave her a very fierce look, but said nothing.

"I'll do it." Everyone turned to the origin of the voice. Neville was still standing by the potion, but now he had a vial in his hand. "I'll do what Dumbledore meant to do. I'll pose as Harry. You don't need me, I'd only hold you down. This way, I could contribute." Neville was shaking slightly. "I'm no good at spells. What good is Herbology going to do me in all this? This is something I could do. Let me help."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Neville." Harry said. "I would never allow you to do that." Ginny agreed vehemently.

"Yeah, Neville. You're not completely useless." Ron said, smirking softly. Everyone turned towards Hermione, expecting her to protest as well. She was looking down once more at the letter, which was rattling slightly in her uneasy grasp. "Hermione?" Ron said quietly.

"Oh, Neville, I'm so sorry this has to be done, but I think you're right." Hermione was crying softly. She went to Harry, who wore a look of mixed fury and confusion. "Harry, you must understand, Neville's doing this for the greater good. He'd be regarded as a hero. You know I'm right. You may not like the whole heroic idea, but to some people, it's the best way to be remembered. I may have said Dumbledore went a bit soft, but he must've had some reason to back up this insanity he concocted. I really think this needs to be done, and that you need to let him help you." Hermione pleaded with her eyes.

"I... I just would feel wrong about asking you to do this for me, Neville." Harry looked as though he'd had the wind knocked out of him.

"I'm not doing it for you. Like Hermione said, I'd be doing it for the greater good," Neville smiled wistfully. "And besides, I'd like to be able to fire a few spells at the old bastard who put my parents in St. Mungo's."

---

**A/N: **Okay, I don't believe in holding my fics hostage anymore, you know, to get a ransom of fifty or so reviews. Whatever, but if you read this, and like it, or not, please tell me. Give me feedback, constructive criticism, praise, flames. Anything you like. So, I hope you liked this second part. Third one should be on its way soon enough.


	3. Part Three

**Part Three: The Fire Sermon**

A boy with disheveled hair crept quietly down the hill that lead from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade, trying to make as little noise as possible. Of course, this was a bit difficult, and he stumbled on the small rocks littered on the pathway. He finally conceded to taking his wand out of his pocket, and casting a nervous and weary _Lumos _spell. He could now effectively see all the little rocks he was stumbling on. This was no good. He continued to yelp clumsily down the hill, sometimes running blindly, and thus falling. With a final fall and grunt, he found himself on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. Now was the time to make himself as seen as he possibly could without looking suspicious.

His green eyes glowed as he wondered around the streets, searching for people in dark clothes lurking around dark corners. He made his way to the questionable part of Hogsmeade, an area he would have normally avoided at all costs, but presently, he was on a mission and he'd be damned if he was going to get frightened. After walking along the dank alleys for what seemed like hours to him, he finally stumbled upon a few questionable looking people. They leered at him, but it was too dark for either party to see the other properly.

"Lost, boy?" One of the men sneered at him.

"Oh, a... a bit, yes," the boy squeaked.

"Pity," the second man clucked, "Come inside. We'll have a drink and then perhaps I'll accompany you back to your ickle mummikins." The men laughed, and grabbed the boy roughly by the shoulders, steering him into what appeared to be a desolate and eerie bar and inn. The boy gulped but said no words of protest.

Once inside, the men began appraising the boy in an almost sick manner. They looked at each other every so often, both thinking that he looked surprisingly familiar. Finally, one of the men scraped back a scrap of unruly black hair, only to reveal a scar they knew all too well.

"Well, well. This _is _interesting. What on earth is The Boy Who Lived doing out alone in a dark alley?"

"Looking for trouble, I expect," a third man who had joined them moments earlier conceded. "Potter, I never knew you were so stupid. I would have thought the boy who thwarted the Dark Lord on so many occasions would at least allow himself not to be caught so easily."

The boy looked horrified at the man's gleeful expression.

"Oh yes, we shall be repaid greatly for this little find," one of the men said. "Let's take him outside and go pay our Lord a visit, shall we? He'll be ever so pleased to find what the cat dragged in."

The boy gulped, before roughly being shoved outside. Only seconds later, he felt himself being grasped tightly by a man who clearly hadn't washed in many a year. Slowly, the desolate streets of Hogsmeade became a fleeting memory as everything turned black. The boy who was not in fact Harry Potter had been effectively captured and the plan went into action.

---

"Oh Merlin," Hermione wailed. "How could I have allowed him to do such a stupid thing? I can't believe I let him. I am so stupid. This will end in tears, I know it will. It won't work and Neville will have been... _Oh_!" She sobbed. "And it will have all been for nothing."

"This was your bloody idea, Hermione," Ron snapped.

"Well, no, Ron," Ginny said, "It was Dumbledore's, actually."

"Right well, Hermione wasn't exactly rushing to disagree with this grand scheme,"Ron huffed. "I wonder what's happening now?"

"Can we stop talking about this? I'm getting nervous. You're making me nervous, Ron," Ginny pleaded. "What's done is done. Now we just have to... well, hope for the best."

"Hope for the best? Oh don't be so stupid, Ginny. Gods, Neville's just... well, he's just thrown himself to the beast. I think we're allowed to worry about the man for just a few moments. No sensitivity. None at all!"

"Just shut up, both of you," Harry snapped. They both didn't reply, and everyone lapsed into silence, broken only by Hermione's sobs.

They waited for nothing in particular. They wanted some kind of sign that something was going right, or that something had happened. Anything to break the tension in the air. And then, that something they had been hoping for came, in the form of Arthur Weasley.

"Ron? Ginny?" The voice of Mr. Weasley could be heard from the stairs below. They waited for the balding head to surface, and when it did, they were horrified. Mr. Weasley looked in a right state. His robes were torn, and the bottom had clearly been trailing in mud, grass and puddles. His face was sheet white and his eyes bloodshot.

"What's the matter, Dad?" Ron said, walking over and putting a comforting hand on his father's shoulder. His father looked at him wearily and beckoned to Ginny, who had risen from her seat next to Harry. She stared at her father for a few moments, deciding that he looked so much older than he had the week before when she had seen him last. She stood beside him too, and faced him, a look of questioning curiosity on her face.

"We're being hunted," Mr. Weasley told them. "I've decided it would be best if you two were removed from Hogwarts. I've warned all the other children. They're outside the school, waiting for us. Your mother is already at the place I've chosen for us to hide."

Ron and Ginny looked rife with protest, but said nothing. Mr. Weasley turned to Harry and Hermione, who looked equally horrified. "I'm sorry you two, but I'm afraid to endanger my family any further. If you two would like to join us, you're-"

"No, no, Mr. Weasley," Harry responded quickly. "Hermione and I... No, we need to stay here. We're safest here." Hermione stared at him with a confused and slightly scared expression on her face, but she said nothing to contradict him. "Besides," Harry continued, "I'd just be putting you in more danger. I seem to have attracted quite a lot of it as of late." No one responded to Harry's attempt at a joke.

Finally, Mr. Weasley nodded. He turned to his two youngest children and told them that they needn't pack because Mrs. Weasley had already taken some of their clothes that they'd left at home. They both nodded mechanically, eyes sad, but loyal to their father. They turned towards Harry and Hermione. Quickly exchanging hugs and goodbyes, the redheaded family departed from the office, leaving Harry and Hermione quite bewildered and quite alone.

"Do you think they'll be all right?" Hermione whispered.

"God, I hope so." Harry replied defiantly. He went back to his chair and reread Dumbledore's letter. "And I hope Dumbledore knew what he was doing when he wrote this." Hermione nodded sadly, and went to sit beside Harry in Ginny's recently vacated chair. It was there that they slept.

---

Walking through the halls the next morning had not been a pleasant experience. They both felt stiff from sleeping in hard backed chairs, but Harry and Hermione were not immediately bothered by this. As they had walked down to the Great Hall for a tense breakfast, the few students who remained at Hogwarts were standing in the Entrance Hall, whispering amongst themselves, looking at the two Gryffindors. With horror and pity, Hermione had even noticed a few girls crying softly. When they entered the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall greeted them, to their surprise.

"But, Professor, I thought you were in Diagon..." Harry started, but a sharp look from Hermione stopped him in his tracks. McGonagall looked older, her skin oddly stretched over her thin and bony features. There were dark circles under her eyes that had never been there before. She had lost the stern look in her eyes; all Harry could see was hopelessness, despair and the desperate need for a good drink.

"Professor," Hermione began quietly, "You look... awfully tired. Has something... has something gone wrong in Diagon Alley. Because, you know, they really can't... they can't be stopped. Not yet."

McGonagall shook her head, but it didn't seem as though it was in denial of Hermione's question, but simply a wish that it would all be over. Harry didn't see any of the courage she had once possessed, nor did he see the calm poise that the old Headmaster had once exuded in times of danger. She looked at a loss for words, unable to decide what could be done. But finally, she spoke, shaky words though they were.

"Follow me," she had said, but her voice had lost its usual curtness. They walked a little ways behind her to the deserted Slytherin table. No Slytherin had remained upon the unofficial closing of the school. Though not all of them belonged in the families of Death Eaters, their families were all Pureblooded and proud, thus convinced they could protect their children better than any qualified Auror or teacher could. McGonagall urged them to sit down. Harry felt odd sitting where he was. He felt as though he was betraying the innate goodness within him by sitting at a table where such evil had been harbored. Finally, with a shaky hand, McGonagall extracted a paper from her robes, and laid it out carefully in front of them.

The headline read, "EIGHT FOUND DEAD IN DEVON". Upon further examination, with a horrible, sinking feeling in his stomach, Harry realized that the eight dead in question were in fact...

"Oh my God!" Hermione sobbed. "Not them. Not Ron... Ginny." She had clapped a hand to her mouth in shocked horror, and tears leaked onto the pristine paper before her. Harry stared blankly at the paper, feeling so sick, he almost had the urge to wretch beside himself. He couldn't believe it. All of them, all of the Weasleys were gone. His best friend... was dead at the hands of his enemy. He felt for a moment defeated so utterly that his body shook would rage and despair. And they hadn't even unearthed Mrs. Weasley's body! Harry allowed himself angry tears. He slipped an arm around Hermione, who was now very near hysterical, and watched as her bushy head collapsed into the crook of his shoulder. McGonagall looked down at the two, tears very near welling up in her eyes as well.

She then sat across from them, putting her hand upon Harry's. "I don't know if this will be of any comfort to you, but Mrs. Weasley isn't... she wasn't with them. She's still with us." Harry looked up at her. "She was apparently already in hiding when the rest of her family were intercepted." A tear trickled down her cheek. "She'll be here by tonight, I'm sure of it. But, poor Molly. I don't think she'll want to live after this terrible, horrible..."

They sat in silence, all crying quietly. Harry allowed himself a break from his grieving, feeling a horrific pent up need to kill.

---

**A/N: **I understand now that people aren't really liking this. But I'm going to finish it anyway. So, I hope someone who enjoying this reads it. And don't worry, the Draco/Hermione stuff is coming soon enough.


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